


For a Hundred Years

by Catheryne



Category: Gossip Girl (TV 2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23895538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheryne/pseuds/Catheryne
Summary: In a kingdom torn by war, friendships and loyalties are challenged by love and responsibility.
Relationships: Chuck Bass/Blair Waldorf
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This story is set loosely during the Hundred Years War. There are some real events that I have rearranged to make sense in my story. I decided to write again because we are locked down and I wanted to do something other than worry.

Part 1

Silence echoed, more deafening than cheers and applause, it seemed. Charles kept a short distance as he watched with hooded eyes. His heart was held in a viselike grip within his chest. He was alert, ever watchful of the movement of the few men surrounding them. Never had he felt so alien on this land. Never had power felt so powerless than where they were today.

Before him, Nathaniel glanced back and met his eyes. Charles nodded, a quiet show of support. He could see the warm breath Nathaniel expended as it met the cool air surrounding them. Had it only been months ago that they were boys, their stiff bodies marching from the group study rooms in the Chateau de Vincennes and then bursting into a run as they reached the courtyard? Just months ago, when they were ignorant children with bare understanding of the wars that felled the lords far wiser and better than they.

It was a mere hundred days ago that Charles looked up from the ground, his tunic grass stained from the brief match from which he had wrestled Nathaniel and pinned him down. Nathaniel had raised himself on his elbow, his golden hair tousled and his face red with mirth. At the sight of the queen, Nathaniel’s mother, standing beneath the archway with his own father Bartholomew, their faces somber, Charles staggered to his feet. Nathaniel’s face fell. Charles extended a hand to him and helped him up.

Charles kept a respectful distance, but watched closely as Queen Anne took Nathaniel’s hand and clasped them inside hers. 

“Mother, what is it?” Nathaniel asked.

He could hear pieces of the conversation, and Charles’ eyes flew to meet his father’s as he realized what had happened.

Poitiers had been a staggering loss, one of the many, one after the other, for the kingdom. 

“Eleven thousand men, and still devastated,” the queen said. With her voice breaking, she informed her son, “The king had been captured, taken back to London.”

It was a show of strength that was new to Charles, when he heard Nathaniel assure his mother, “The Black Prince would not hurt him. The bastard English king will want ransom. My father will be returned, long as I can find the gold.”

The queen nodded, and glanced at her adviser Bartholomew. Where Nathaniel could not see, she shook her head to him as a gesture of silence. Charles had overheard enough of his father’s conversations to know that there was no gold, barely enough to continue running the kingdom as it was. The monarchy was a show, and the Valois did not have the full support and loyalty of the duchies.

Not at the state that France was in, not with hunger and plague, not when there is challenger whose bloodline was Capetian and an army that seemed more ruthless and more powerful. 

The queen took Nathaniel’s face in her hands and looked deep into her son’s eyes. “You will be regent until the king is returned,” she stated firmly. “Your father was clear. You need to hold us together, Nathaniel.”

There was no reason to give an opening to other claimants. They must show unity, a clear succession.

And right then, Charles could see the change in the way that his friend bore himself, the quiet resolution that fell over Nathaniel. 

From that day they swore to leave boyhood behind and face the challenge. France was in ruins; destroyed in battle after battle by the greed of the English kings. It was time to take their rightful places, to take control. To be the men they were born to be.

“Keep him strong,” his father had told him. “This is my legacy,” Bartholomew said. “To stand on the right side of a monarch, one must be a man—not a boy like you.” At the words, Charles swallowed. “Kill the boy, Charles. Only when you kill the boy can you serve a king.” 

It was later that Charles would learn that his own uncle, his father’s brother, had perished in the same battle. His father’s face was inscrutable then, and Charles learned how it was to be a trusted counselor. There was no place for one’s own grief, to one’s own emotions. When the queen was in mourning, the right hand to the queen was to be stoic.

Just as women had done since time immemorial, the queen took to the task of building up her son. The dauphin no longer was a nobleman of a remote land, settled in Paris within the royal chateau. Nathaniel, still protected and isolated where many men his age had fought and been wounded in battle, now belonged to the people of France. Now is the difficult toil for Anne to ensure he would step outside and be seen a king.

Bartholomew, for his part, who would solve the larger problem. A kingdom with a figurehead would only survive so long without gold. Men would only follow until their families starved. For long, endless nights, Charles watched as his father scoured the noble families surrounding them. He could see his father at his library, guided only by lamplight, as he surveyed and send missives, coordinated with messengers and discussed with courtiers—all in secret lest unfriendly forces realize his mission.

It was the first time he had seen the curve on his father’s lips when outside, as the queen watched Nathaniel fence with a partner in the courtyard, Batholomew broke the seal of a newly arrived letter. He leaned over to whisper to the queen, and the queen nodded, then motioned to the Lady van der Woodsen. 

And the lady fell into a deep curtsy and left the courtyard.

Nathaniel walked up the steps, newly crowned regent of France at sixteen years, the dauphin of Viennois at the age of twelve. This young man, whom he had known since they were toddlers, raised together at the chateau as brothers, was expected to raise France from the ruins of a kingdom swept by a plague of disease and countless lost battles.

Nathaniel’s voice, not yet deep enough to strike the fear of kings, held a slight tremor which he attempted to cover with volume. He took the hand of the Lady Serena, and recited the wedding vows as stated by the abott. The two looked like royal perfection before the cross, golden and beautiful, and could be sculpted like statues as they were. It was a wedding that could salvage the ruin. As it was, the fiefdom that Nathaniel already held as regent and dauphin strengthened his position on lands, but war took men and gold—resources that had been scant after three generations of fighting and a ravaging epidemic.

Nathaniel and the Lady Serena signed on the document, and then the lady curtsied before Nathaniel. The dauphin reached towards her to help her up, and the lady hurried down the platform and left. 

Charles’ father came up to him a few moments later. Bartholomew grasped his shoulder. “It is done. Now your part has come.” He handed the document to Charles, still unfurled to ensure the ink would dry. “As the dauphin has wed by proxy, so must the widow of Burgundy.” Charles look down at the document and noted the empty space that France needed urgently to be filled in. “And then we may submit the signed papers to the pope.” By far the richest duchy in France, Burgundy’s resources and gold far outweighed the combined wealth across France. “Eleanor of Bourbon is expecting Nathaniel’s proxy any day now. Can I trust you?” was his challenge.

“For the dauphin and the kingdom,” Charles swore.

~o~o~

She was a princess in Bourbon, duchess of Burgundy, married at two and widowed at the age of six. The Lady Blair needed no man, not even a king. 

Yet this king needed her.

Her chin rose in pride as she stood at the ramparts of her castle, watching as the half dozen men thundered on their horses towards her.

“And so they come,” she said. She turned sharp, dark eyes towards her mother. “I cannot believe you have done this to me again.”

Lady Eleanor turned to her daughter and arched her eyebrows. “You are holding a kingdom’s ransom in your purse, unmarried, Bourbon in your future and Burgundy today. How long do you think this world will let you alone without a man to protect you, Blair?”

Blair shrugged her shoulders under the heavy brocade cape. “It has been a decade, mother, since the duke of Burgundy died on battle. I am yet alive. I can survive on my own.”

Eleanor let out a hearty laugh, which immediately irritated her daughter. “Oh Blair.” The older duchess shook her head. “You have lived in Bourbon, far from Burgundy where you would have needed to defend your possessions by yourself. Do you think this place runs itself, that your father and his men have not run themselves ragged in your defense?” Eleanor pointed to the tower to the East, then to the West. For the first time, Blair recognized the men standing guard. “Count the cannons on the tower, Blair, and then when you take your mare out for your daily ride on the grounds open your eyes and observe around you how many men are installed for your protection, then come back to me and tell me that you can survive on your own.”

Blair closed her eyes, knowing as she did she could only deny her mother’s point for so long. 

Very early in her life, Eleanor had married her off to Louis, her pretty husband, taken too early by the plague. She had never met Louis, only seen him in the small portrait she discovered with her marriage papers, but she knew her father had decided she would be married off to a family as rich or richer than her own, because Louis would have been able to protect her.

Good, darling Louis, who married her young and left her young. The protection her father Roman had chosen for her had left her even more vulnerable. If there was one thing good about it, her loyal tiring woman had told her, was that being a nobleman’s widow gave her more independence than any other lady.

Silly Dorota, she muttered quietly, as the men on horseback came ever closer. 

Louis and his ridiculously early passing had made her more of a prize, and whereas Dorota likely thought independence was being independently wealthy. In truth it was merely a wider cage, yet a prison still.

And here came her next jailer. At least she had a ten year reprieve.

“If I tell you that you and father will not need to protect me anymore, will you change your mind?” Blair asked again.

Eleanor’s face softened, and Blair’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother reached for her and cupped her cheek. “My darling, we have everything I ever thought we would need.” Blair held her breath. Eleanor continued, “Except the crown of France. What kind of mother would I be if I let you walk away from the throne?” Eleanor’s hand dropped to her side. “I want you to wear the purple kirtle, and silk—a lot of silk. Tell Dorota to take the white fillet from my chambers, the one with the frilled top and the silk crispinette with pearls. Today you are wedding the next king of France, and you will look the part.”

Blair released the breath she held as her mother walked away. 

~o~o~

When he and his men arrived in the castle, Charles removed his cape and straightened himself. With the royal document clutched securely in his hand, he went directly to the duke and duchess, with full anticipation of being able to do fulfill his part in ensuring that the kingdom would be salvaged. Charles bowed deeply before Eleanor of Bourbon and kissed the rings on her fingers. 

At least the lady did not look ancient, which meant that the widow of Burgundy was not some crippled rich old woman. 

He pushed the stray thought away. This marriage was for the alliance it would bring. Nathaniel had more than enough options at home if he wanted a pretty lover. In fact, with the dowry that the widow of Burgundy would bring, Nathaniel would have even more options.

“Welcome to our home, my lord,” the duke greeted him. 

“We have been looking forward to today, my lord,” the duchess said.

Charles took in the impeccably appointed castle. It did not miss his notice how well the Bourbon line had fortified the place. Even from afar he was grateful that France did not wage a war here, because the Bourbons were armed generously, and it seemed that their army was strong.

Nathaniel needed this.

“It is my honor to represent the dauphin in this marriage,” he said, eager to lock the deal and take the wealthiest woman in Christendom back to his king. Surely the widow of Burgundy would have more than enough to satisfy the ransom of the French king and more. She would be a boon to empty coffers, an oasis in the desert. Nathaniel needed her. France needed her. “Will you lead us to the chapel?” He handed the marriage document to the duke.

“Of course,” Eleanor said. She made her way to the heart of the castle complex, across a nicely maintained garden until Charles saw the heavy wooden doors of the white chapel. 

There were candles lit around them. Even in his haste he recognized what an expense it was that they did not seem to mind. There must be many workers in the village, serfs and candlemakers, to have prepared to burn so much for the occasion. At the end of the isle, just by altar, he saw the prize.

He could have sworn that there was a huff of displeasure from the duchess.

Charles could not turn to her. The lone figure at the altar, drenched from head to toe in black silk, with her head and neck fully covered by the wispy wimple, held his attention. 

Plain, stark, hidden but for the delicate features of her face.

The widow of Burgundy.

The widow was a fallen angel.

He stalled on his feet. His throat closed and he fought to clear it.

“My lord, if you will excuse her,” Eleanor stammered. “My daughter has a stubborn streak in her. Will you be able to wait as I find something more appropriate for her to wear?”

“No,” Charles choked out. “Let us get it done. We have not a lot of time.”

And she was a glorious angel all in black, her skin pale in sharp contrast, her lips so bloody red.

He barely noticed as the priest took his place behind the altar. Chuck wondered if he had been dragged to stand before the widow of Burgundy, or if he floated there. Her eyes were so dark and deep—and they stared daggers at him.

“I do not wish to do this,” she stated plainly. “I do not need a husband.”

Charles found himself nodding his head. “I do not doubt it. But we need you,” he breathed out. “The kingdom needs you, my lady. Will you marry for France?”

She gave a curt nod. “And then will I have my freedom?” When she turned her gaze to the priest, he recognized the tears that welled, making those orbs shiny pools.

He had blanked out, could not even remember the name on the document. The widow of Burgundy. The angel all in black. She could drag him to heaven or to hell, and he would not struggle free. 

“And then you will have everything,” he swore, and Charles vowed he would keep that promise.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

This was how her precious independence would end—with this hurried wedding with a stand in in his shiny armour. Ridiculously outfitted, the man stood before him as if this were the battlefields at Crecy and not a family chapel in Bourbon. It served her right for having the temerity to think that she was done with this responsibility after Louis died. What a fitting way to be committed to another. She could barely see the man before her.

Blair glanced back towards her father, who nodded at her in encouragement. She turned back to the man. He reached up and took off his helmet, revealed tousled dark hair. As if to give comfort, those thin lips curved a small fraction. 

The eyes, those eyes—HIS eyes--on her were burning. Every fiber of her being lit afire by his presence, this man who had been sent for her, this man who was not king. He was no one to her, and she regretted the moment the words spilled from her lips, as if he were a savior and would understand what even her mother could not.

What her father would not.

“I do not wish this. I do not need a husband.”

And his response, in the liquid fire on his voice, licked at her spine. It was soft, a challenge and a plea. It was all she could do not to break apart.

These men. She knew these kinds of men. All men. They would swear heaven and earth to get to their ends. 

For this man before her, it was her hand for the dauphin.

And with her hand, her gold and the swords that came with them.

After all, her father had sworn to her that she would need not wed again after Louis. That with Burgundy, she had more than any other woman. He assured her that she could live out her life in freedom, as a widow of consequence, under his roof.

She was protected, far away from the battles that raged outside. But she knew, certainly. She knew when noble men came through the doors begging for succor from the Bourbons, and even as her parents chose to stay as far as they could from the chaos it would touch her. 

Many men had come to her home since before she could remember, to ask for her hand and been turned away. A long time ago she sat by Harold and asked her father, when one particularly charming one had been rejected, why. And the duke had told her that one by one the men would fall. None could do better than Harold would.

After all, between Bourbon and Burgundy, Harold controlled a purse far heavier than even that of the king.

For the longest time Blair had lulled herself into the assurance that she would never be wed again.

How she had discounted the blinding sheen of the crown. Despite being penniless and crushed in battle each time, the Valois claim to the throne proved too attractive for her father to resist.

A king, it seemed, or at least the dauphin, was the only man who would convince the Duke of Bourbon.

God would strike her for certain, but fleetingly she wondered how soon this dauphin would fall in battle too, and she could be widowed another time, freed again from marriage a second time. Surely she would not be so fortunate. 

When she was queen, and her new husband fell in battle, what fate would befall her, she wondered, when the English stormed France? Would she be martyred and beheaded, her bloody head displayed amongst a dozen other noble heads? She doubted it, truly. Her coffers were too full, and if the whispers of the servants were to be believed, the English freely traded prisoners for gold. Surely she could buy a hundred years of freedom.

Blair resisted the urge to be taken away by a daydream.

“You will have everything,” this man who stood in the dauphin’s place swore to her.

And for the life of her, knowing not his name, she almost believed him. Her mind told her the words were empty, for who was this lord who was instructed to take her for the dauphin? God help her, she could drown in those narrow eyes that searched her soul. She turned towards the priest, who began the solemnization of the matrimony.

Gently, he reached for her hand. The metal of his gauntlet was cool against her skin. Blair turned to face him, listened to the nuptial vows that he made on another man’s behalf. When she recited hers, for the first time she was told, as she had been too young to repeat the words on her first wedding, Blair could not help the tightness in her throat.

Every breath rebelled inside her. How she longed to proclaim that she would be free, than to tie her fate to a man she did not know.

From her father’s roof, to a husband’s, widowhood, and then another husband’s.

Each tie a cage smaller yet grander.

“His highness is a good man, my lady,” he said gently, as he opened his hand and showed her the wedding ring nestled in his palm. “And I will keep my promise.” 

Why would she trust him, she wondered, this man whose name she did not even know?

Blair watched as he slid the ring on her finger. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee honor, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Such words rang false, knowing he said it in place of another. His voice had no right to be so liquid and heated. The ring fit her finger perfectly, and it too felt wrong. A fleeting thought occurred to her that the dauphin had not happened on the size by accident, and that it was a ring her mother had prepared. The man’s fingers lingered on hers. How well it fit, yet how heavy and odd it felt. Blair held her breath until he released her.

“Forasmuch as his highness Nathaniel Archibald, dauphin of France and regent of the kingdom, and her grace, Lady Blair Grimaldi, Duchess of Burgundy, have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The marriage contract lay before her, signed with a flourish by the dauphin. By her husband Nathaniel. This man whose face she did not know. 

The man who stood by her side placed the ink and quill within her reach. She took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand she took the quill and signed her name to the document.

She put down the quill, then slowly turned back to this man. “My lord,” she said to him, “if you should take me from the only home I know, I must have your name.”

“Charles, your grace,” he offered. “I swear to you deliver you safely to your husband.” Blair nodded. “We leave tonight.” 

She had been told what would happen, expected nothing less. Unlike her marriage to Louis as a child, a pure merging of wealth between two families, with no immediate expectation at such a young age, marriage to the dauphin would require far more. A future king required a queen, and Eleanor Waldorf, despite her shortcomings, raised—no matter how reluctant Blair may be—a queen.

~o~o~

The travel itself had been smoother than she expected. Yet over and over this Lord Charles had surprised her. She had insisted to bring everything she owned with her, declined all offer from her father to allow most to follow in the next weeks instead. Chests to overflowing chests were carried out of the castle and loaded onto wagons behind her carriage. 

Beside him, another of Nathaniel’s lords paused to lean in, and Charles waved him back.

He turned to her, that slight smirk still resting on his lips. Blair’s back straightened as she prepared her defense.

He said, however, to her pleased surprise. “Your silks and linen, your grace, will rival those of any lady’s in the chateau.”

“And so will my slippers, my veils and all my jewels,” she returned. “All fit for a queen.”

“As it should be,” he murmured, patiently waiting astride his horse as her treasures flowed out of the castle.

Blair eyes narrowed. It was too easy. He was being much too kind for one pressed for time on the dauphin’s errand. Last night, he was in such hurry to wed her for Nathaniel, and now he could dally endlessly on her whim. 

His haunting dark eyes were not to be trusted. The smooth silky voice was treacherous.

“I need to take it all,” Blair told him, her smile saccharine. “After all, one cannot expect the throne of France would have the coin to spare.”

It was only then that his smirk faded. “For baubles and fancy dresses, no,” he admitted. “There are affairs of the kingdom, your grace, that require our gold—such as keeping our land and our menfolk alive.” And then he gave a curt nod to her, “If it will please you, your grace, I shall wait up at the front of the party and lead us out.”

Since the day they ventured out, she had not spoken with Lord Charles. It was as if she traveled the independent widow she had wanted to be. The days on the road were long, and most times she was able to move her curtain and watch the countryside. Aside from the first day when it seemed like they had been led to a needlessly bumpy path—which she swore was his revenge for her caustic words—the trip from Bourbon to Paris was quite memorable.

Good thing he stayed away, she told herself. Lady Blair was well entertained by her maid’s stories in the carriage. Beginning on the second day—which was when she supposed Lord Charles no longer had a grudge on her and the carriage ride was smoother—she could even read from her small book, sew tiny pearls into her crispinette, and even fall asleep on the cushioned seat. 

On the first night of their journey, there were close enough to the town that they could rent rooms for the nobles. Blair had stayed with her maid in the finest room at the inn. When she went up to the room, she was surprised to find Lord Charles inside as he surveyed the windows and the door lock. The moment she stepped inside, he bowed before her and left the room.

On the succeeding nights out in the open road, far away from towns, the traveling party gathered for dinner and drinks around the fire. Blair found out about the rest of the dauphin’s party, and was entertained by stories they told. She realized that the head of the party had been schooled with the dauphin at the chateau since boyhood, that the two had grown up close as brothers in the court.

No wonder it was Lord Charles that made the trip to Bourbon for her. In Nathaniel’s place she would have chosen the same. None could take the place of a trusted confidante in matters so critical.

Sir Rufus, one of the more experienced knights in the party, ended the night with a haunting song on his hurdy-gurdy, and the haunting cranking tune sent many to their sleeping mats. Blair made her way to the covered wagon that Dorota had made up so she could lay down fully and not sleep sitting down in the carriage. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the dark figure sitting down, leaning back against the wheel of the wagon, his hand fisted around the hilt of his sword.

Since he had not been speaking to her, Blair decided to quietly make his way into the wagon and lay down in the dark. The air was cool, and she pulled a heavy blanket over her body. She stared up at the linen roof cover and realized everyone else could see the stars littering the night sky but her.

“Sleep well, your grace,” came his deep silk voice. “Fret not. I am on watch this night.”

She gave a deep sigh. Blair gathered the thick blanket, then crawled back out and tossed it down towards him. He leaned his head back with his familiar smirk, his eyes closed. Lord Charles pulled the blanket over lap.

“Some watch,” she muttered softly. His eyes were closed, for sure. Yet as she drifted off to sleep, knowing he was out there gave her peace.

In the morning, Lady Blair took to the back of the back of the party and secured her palfrey from her men. 

“Hello sweetheart,” she greeted her horse, as it neighed in happiness at the sight of her. She brushed the ebony mane of her beast, and pulled herself up astride. Blair leaned forward and whispered, “It had been a while, my love.”

With a slight urging of her knee, the palfrey ambled forward and then sped up, cantered past the wagons and past Dorota in the carriage. She made her way up to the front of the party and slowed down beside Lord Charles. He turned to her, and a slow smile of welcome built as her ride dropped to an easy gait that matched his.

“Your grace,” he greeted her.

“My lord,” Blair returned. She looked out towards the vast space between them, then saw the chateau towards which they rode. “Is that home?”

“Oui,” he answered. “The only home I ever knew.” He pointed towards the tower. “I was born in that keep, tutored alongside the dauphin in the same library.” He glanced at her. “It is beautiful,” he assured her. “Massive enough that you could wander for weeks and never be found, should you so choose.”

For some reason, it vastly intrigued her.

“Will you show me, my lord?” Blair asked. “Will you tour me and show me the places where I can disappear?” Hidden away, she could be free. Much like her life in Bourbon. And then her heart sank. But she was married to the regent here, a queen consort in every way. She would never be allowed to vanish or be free. It was her responsibility. “Forgive me,” she said, brushing aside her desire. “I did not mean to sound the girl.”

Queens bred kings. The did not deal in folly.

“We are fortunate to have you, your grace,” he said to her. “You come at a time the kingdom needs you most. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you would change the world.”

~o~o~

This was his world, his corner of the earth. He led the path up to the chateau. The fortress gates opened to welcome them, and Charles took the horse through. The cheers of welcome were intense, loud, warm. He recognized the slight tinge of desperation in those voices, knew at once that the people who gathered realized the very reason for this arrival.

To them, she would bring gold, vast resources that the kingdom sadly lacked. In these times of war, her wealth was their savior.

He glanced towards Lady Blair as she sat upon her black palfrey, her purple cloak about her with the bordered trim so intricate and rich. She seemed like a stranger, still ill at ease in a new world with vastly more people, so crowded compared to her own. As if by cue, the Bourbon men who had ridden with them at the back of the party fell into place behind Lady Blair. Suddenly she was no longer alone in this strange world, but a force mighty and prepared. Two of her knights flanked her as she made her way towards the main keep.

Queen Anne and Nathaniel stood at the step, eager to welcome her. When her palfrey stopped a few steps away, Nathaniel walked over and held a hand up to receive her.

Like the well educated noblewoman she was, Lady Blair dropped to a curtsy before Lord Nathaniel. The dauphin offered his arm and she took it, and Blair curtsied before his mother as well.

Charles followed closely as they entered the main hall. Once inside, he saw his father and handed the wedding document. He caught a glimpse of Blair as she peered towards the entry way. Charles stepped forward, and his heart bled warmth when she sighed and visibly eased at the sight of him. She turned to the queen and Nathaniel, her husband. 

He had done his part for the kingdom, Charles told himself. He would rest easy tonight.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

The banquet to celebrate Lady Blair’s arrival was grander than any that had Paris had ever before seen. Even in Bourbon, where Eleanor threw grand affairs for the lords in her father’s duchy. The feast that Queen Anne threw in celebration of her son’s wedding was beyond comparison. Blair watched in awe as carts of fine tapestries were unloaded and paraded into the keep. 

Beside her, Nathaniel nodded towards the wagons—hundreds of them—that rolled past. “Fine wine from your Burgundian vines, sent by your own estate to welcome you to Paris, my lady.”

He offered his arm, and Blair placed a tentative hand on her new husband’s sleeve. “There will be a tournament beginning tomorrow, of noblemen and knights eager to show you their skills. These last days the preparation for your arrival has much taken my mother’s time.”

Wide eyed, she turned to the queen. “This is too much. It overwhelms me,” she admitted.

Queen Anne’s lips curved. “All that you deserve, my dear,” she assured Blair.

Nathaniel led her through the corridors, and Blair marveled at the large tapestries that adorned the walls. They were majestic, brilliant, colorful. Her feet stalled before one, forcing Nathaniel to halt and turn. She stared up and drank in the wide span of the tapestry. “My lady,’ he prompted her. “Shall we?”

She turned to him and asked, “What is this story?” Blair asked, her curiosity peaked. The tapestry was a world unto itself—with knights and ladies, dwarves, horses, forest and grails. “I can get lost in this world,” she realized.

It was the queen that rested a hand on her back and assured her, “You shall have all the days soon to study the vast artwork in the chateau, my dearest. And you shall make your own contribution on the walls, as all the queens have done. For now, your husband is eager to take you to the banquet.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, and allowed Nathaniel to lead her to the large doors. The men pulled the doors and revealed the large hall, full of the nobles who had gathered for her arrival. At their presence, there was a stillness, a sudden drop of silence. All eyes she felt on her, and then the low murmur of voices as she walked in on the dauphin’s arm.

“Queen Anne of France,” was first announced. The richly dressed nobles fell into a deep bow or curtsy as the queen made her way in. “Prince Nathaniel, dauphin, regent of France, and his consort, Lady Blair, duchess of Burgundy.”

She had been to many feasts, and the structure of the hall was very similar to her home. Blair knew this cleared aisle was a pathway, and the destination was the dais. Two seats awaited them. All through this long walk towards the throne, they would stare and observe, watch every step and study her. The prospect alone raised her chin, and she straightened her back as they made their way.

The aisle was adorned with an opulent red cloth, Flemish of origin, and Lady Blair took in the show of wealth surrounding her, knowing that the kingdom was tight on coin. She noted around her how the wine flowed around them, the sweets piled on the banquet table. Halfway down the aisle, Blair saw the entrance as serving maids and boys walked in with heaping trays of boiled meats and venison, jellies and fruit.

The queen stepped up to the dais and stood before the nobility. She motioned and they stood straight. Nathaniel helped her up and led her to one seat, then stood to the right side of his mother.

She knew not what she searched for, but her gaze continued to wander as she took in the sight before her. From this vantage she could see the spread. The banquet table a hundred feet long it seemed. Right at the center was a delightful statuette of black horse—her own palfrey—and from its mouth flowed down wine from which one could place a goblet underneath and fill to pleasure.

A gallery was above them, overlooking the banquet hall. Lady Blair saw the musicians, the minstrels and the trumpeteers that sounded her welcome on her arrival. Over the walls surrounding them hung several coats of arms.

In Bourbon she had seen those of the men who pledged fealty to her father. Around them now, there were several dozens. At her place on the dais, Blair recognized how many more men had vowed their swords to the king and by extension to the dauphin.

To her.

“Gratitude fills my old heart. You have come to us to show solidarity on this time of need. Without hesitation, with little time, you have come to the throne to show us we are one. The king has been taken. This, you know.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment from the rapt audience. “But my husband, your king, was no ignorant fool. He is strong and wise and prepared. Lord Bass,” Queen Anne stated, “and all the king’s advisers had known long before that the king wished for my son to sit regent for the king. Very swiftly since we learned of the king’s capture did we solemnize the dauphin’s regency. As with a true and tested monarchy, we ensured a quiet and legitimate installment and conferred power to the prince.”

”The time has come,” the queen declared, “for the younger of us, the stronger of us, to take the reins. Your king believed in Lord Nathaniel and his ability and God-given right as regent to have the full powers of the king.”

The queen turned to her back, and held out a hand to Blair. Lady Blair raised a trembling hand and placed it on the queen’s palm. Queen Anne closed a firm hand around Blair’s and gently pulled her to the front, centered on the dais, beside Nathaniel. The queen leaned in, ostensibly to place a kiss on her cheek. She whispered into her ear. “This is what you are here for. Your mother assured me you are ready and able to take the final steps.” Blair turned to the queen in surprise. “With a good consort, any boy could rise up and be a king.”

The cheer that erupted was deafening. Blair searched in the crowd until her gaze rested on the familiar figure who stood at the back. Lord Charles raised his goblet of her fine wine to his lips. She turned to find her golden prince, her regent, beside her, beaming in happiness. The queen stepped down from the dais.

Two seats, she realized. 

Two seats, for the regent and his consort.

Mon Dieu, she exclaimed in her mind. The prince led her to the queen’s throne and took his place on the king’s. With a warm hand over hers, he sat with her. “Only today have we met,” he told her as he leaned towards her, “but I know in my heart, my lady, that you and I, together, will be what this kingdom needs to rise again.”

She would turn him into a king.

It was what Queen Anne had agreed with her own mother. It was such faith she could not fail. Blair covered his hand with as well, clasping where he clasped.

“Together,” she vowed. And then she took a deep breath, then released it. “But, my lord—”

“Nathaniel.”

This caused a flicker of a smile to touch her lips. “Nathaniel, if we shall do this together, I shall stand on your side, and not follow you from behind.”

His golden brows furrowed. “Tell me,” he prompted.

“If we shall do this together, I am not consort but queen,” Blair stated, her voice surprisingly clear over the riotous eruption of music at the banquet. “Together. King and queen. Prince and princess. Not a queen regent, not princess regent. I am duchess in my own right, a peer to the crown. I am not here to provide you with gold and step down from my peerage.” Blair paused, glanced at the arms that surrounded her, all the silent pledges of fealty that came with the crown. “A coronation, Nathaniel, or a farewell,” she pressed, tightening her grasp on him.

If she would trade her freedom, if she were to strive to take him to greatness as they asked, it would not be for an honor that would be tied to a man only. 

It was why Queen Anne could so easily step down without her husband. It was how the crown now would sit on Nathaniel’s head. The power moved from father to son, could skip the queen consort.

Not Blair.

Her fate would not be tied to a man, who could ride out to battle and die any time. Not to man who played at war games and could fall in a joust, never to wake again.

Nathaniel pulled away and stood again, raised a hand to silence the guests. Lady Blair lowered her eyelids and watched silently from her seat, her heart hammered in her chest. Her eyes looked past her lord husband and she met Lord Charles’. He cocked his head to the side, as if in silent question. Blair bit her lip and shrugged.

“My lords and ladies,” Nathaniel said. He gestured to a page who handed him a goblet. “As you enjoy the wine from my lady’s lands, so am I now so enamored with my new bride that I invite you tomorrow to the grand chapel. You will be witness to a once in a lifetime occasion, which will be recorded in the pages of our history. Tomorrow, there will be a coronation of a princess.”

Dark eyebrows arched up, and from the distance Lord Charles raised his goblet to her as a polite applause smattered around them.

Blair turned and watched an older nobleman rush to the dauphin. “Make it happen, Bass” her husband muttered to him. And then Nathaniel turned to her with a smile, “I hope, your grace, that I have earned the pleasure of your first dance.” Around them, the musicians broke into a lively beat. She rose from her throne and walked over to him. “Princess tomorrow.”

“And then, as God allows, King and Queen of France,” he swore to her.

He took her hand and the music began in polyphony. As Blair and Nathaniel stepped on their place side by side, others partnered behind them, falling in line. She and her husband moved in unison, took two steps left and then right as they moved in the basse. Three steps, and backwards, shifting her weight forward and then back. Blair glanced towards the doorway and noticed that Lord Charles had turned towards the corridors and disappeared.

“Where goes he, Lord Charles?” she asked, puzzled. Certainly, as the dauphin’s closest companion, Lord Charles was not in a place to vanish so early in the night. Of course, having just arrived from travel and not having as comfortable a sleeping place as Blair did all throughout the journey, she recognized that the Charles would likely be exhausted and missed his bed.

Nathaniel clasped her hand, and raised it, and their lower arms pressed against each other from fingers to elbow as they turned. “The knighting ceremony begins tonight. His reward for his service, and delivering you safely, is his knighthood. Chuck shall spend the night in ritual prayer at the chapel.”

Chuck. What an odd name. As if he were a boy.

Her heart sank a little. “He would be knighted tomorrow? And I stole the day with a coronation.”

Nathaniel smiled. “You have made his knighting ceremony ever more special,” he assured her. “He would be knighted before the next queen of France. He would swear his chivalric code in front of you. It would be his honor.” When she looked up as him askance, he told her, “Trust me. I know Chuck. He is a brother to me. He will lay down his sword for you. You are, after all, my bride.”

When the dauphin led her to her chambers, Lady Blair turned to him at the door. She looked around them and was surprised at the quiet privacy they enjoyed. The guard pushed open the door and she stepped into the quiet chambers. Her heart raced. Throughout the banquet it was easy to forget that they were married, and she quite did not expect that they would be left alone so soon.

Where was Dorota was she needed her? Dorota could talk her down this rising panic, she knew.

Blair stepped backwards in surprise as she heard the warm laughter from inside the rooms. Five ladies were there seated in familiar comfort, as if they had been there for some time. They rose from their seats and curtsied before her. 

She looked at them, then back at Nathaniel. Surely her husband would want to exercise his husbandly rights. After all, they were newly married. She did not expect such full chambers now.

She turned to him. “Will you stay, your grace?” And then she corrected herself, “Nathaniel.”

With a smile, Nathaniel shook his head. He brought her hand to his lips. “I shall see you at the chapel.”

The doors closed behind the dauphin. She turned to the five ladies before her as they rose. 

The tall one, slender, golden-haired like Nathaniel, with an easy open smile, introduced herself, “Your grace, my name is Serena. I will be one of your ladies in waiting.” And then she gestured to each of the other ladies in the room. “These are Vanessa, Ivy, Georgina and Jenny. We are all your ladies in waiting.”

“I have my Dorota,” she told them. Blair had not been around so many other people her age. What she would do with them, she could not imagine. 

“You are going to be queen,” the youngest among them exclaimed. “We heard that you will have your coronation tomorrow—as a princess. That will quite an affair. You will need us.” 

“We are not your maids. You can have you Dorota, your grace,” Georgina told her with a sweet smile. “Your ladies in waiting are your companions in court. And believe us, you will us.”

Lady Blair frowned. It was quite a burden to think that she would learn to live with five others so close. “What is it that you will do?”

“Everything,” Vanessa piped in.

“Even marry your husband.” 

Blair turned to the lady who spoke. Ivy. “I beg your pardon?”

The lady playfully pointed at Serena. “Lady Serena stood as your proxy and wed the dauphin for you.” Blair glanced at Serena again, and flashed with a vision of how beautiful they must have been as they wed, both golden and slender and lovely. They would have been a beautiful tapestry together—her and her husband. “Ladies in waiting come very handy. We do many of the things that will be required to run your household, your grace. We are well trained to do many courtly duties.” She shrugged. “And those we are not well trained to perform, we perform as if we are well trained,” Ivy continued with a flourish.

Blair felt herself easing into the conversation, and realized how starved she had been in companionship since she was born. How familiar these five were to each other. How amusing it was to listen to them. It was easy to forget she was in a whole other castle, a whole other family.

Serena reached out and clasped her hand. “We will be here with you, and you will never be lonely. No matter what happens, we will be at your side, as long as you need us.”

“We will make this home for you,” Vanessa assured her. “After all, we are all far from our homes, called to court to serve you. We have duties beyond spending time with you on your past time, your grace. We will run your household so all you will need to think about is your duties as the princess.”

Georgina raised a hand. “I, for one, will keep you abreast of the comings and goings at court. I will relay your messages and I will keep your secrets.” The ladies burst into giggles. “We all have our specialties, your grace.”

Blair found herself laughing along with her new companions. She did not realize even as the hours passed and the night settled. Finally, it was Serena that rose and reminded the ladies that it was time to turn in for the night and allow Blair to retire. She led the way to the private bedchambers and curtsied to Blair. 

~o~o~

The rays of the sun filtered in through the stained windows of the chapel, bathing the spare pews with colored light. Charles stood from where he knelt before the altar wearing his white vesture. A squire came up to him and offered him his red robe, which he quietly wrapped around himself. He turned towards the sounds of leather on the marble floor. The whole night vigil had rendered his vision sensitive. Chuck shielded his eyes with his hands and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight flooding in.

The silhouette was easily recognizable. Nathaniel walked over towards him and clasped his shoulder. 

“How went your night of prayer, Chuck?” he asked him, using his informal, childhood name. “Are you resolved to take your oath?”

“As if I had waited for this day all my life,” Charles assured the dauphin.

“Then I am proud to do this.”

Charles turned and watched as several of the nobles from the night before poured into the chapel and took their places at the pews. It was a small affair, true, but grand in purpose. Charles recognized the importance of the event that even Queen Anne seemed to have turned in favor as the nobles looked somberly on.

This was not the first time that he was in this position, but God help him, this woman still took his breath away. This time she was glad in a heavy red cape with a white fur trim as she slowly made her way down towards the altar. Charles remembered when she had walked down the aisle on her wedding day draped in black silk, drawing her mother’s ire.

If Eleanor could see her daughter now. Lady Blair was every inch a queen in waiting.

She looked up at the altar, then to her husband, and finally to him. Charles’ breath hitched in his throat. Her chin rose. He could see the muscles of her throat work as she swallowed the emotion. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out, from assuring her that all would be right. She reached the abott now. Nathaniel took her hand and helped her as she knelt in the heavy robe she wore.

The abott anointed her with the oil and chanted the sacrament to her. It was not a full coronation, the king still lived, yet it was a crowning of the princess. The nobles in attendance watched closely as the circlet was placed on Blair’s head. When Nathaniel helped her rise, and they stood next to each other, Queen Anne beamed with pride at the showcase, the display that they had put in front of the nobles. The very affair was showmanship, and the next words from Nathaniel was proof.

“Friends, you have witnessed today the crowing of Lady Blair, princess of Bourbon and duchess of Burgundy, today princess of France. Today you see the unification of the Valois and two grand duchies, personified before you.” In a firm voice, that Charles swore could rally the dead, Nathaniel echoed in the chapel, “This is the strength we can bring if we join together, all our duchies and all the old kingdoms could band together against invading forces. Are you with me and my wife?”

Even as true of a loyalist as he was, Charles admitted even he was roused further by the battle cry. It was done. His mission was a success. Nathaniel motioned to him to step before them and Charles stepped forward, then knelt before the prince regent, his brother and best friend, and the princess.

Nathaniel took Charles’ sword and shield from the abott. He could feel her eyes on him, and his heart swelled at the prospect of forever being sworn to her. He closed his eyes and held his head down, waiting for the oath as stated by Nathaniel. 

“The duty of a knight is to forego personal glory, to prove one’s self the most loyal, the most courteous, to defend women and orphans from wicked folk.” His words resounded, and Charles took them deep in his soul. Kill the boy, his father said. Kill the boy and serve the king. Yet today he knelt before more than a king, but before the princess and his God. If ever there was an oath to take to heart, this was it. “The duty of the knight is to speak only the truth, to be loyal to his lord, devoted to the church. The duty of the knight is to make war upon his enemies—”

“Are you ready to embrace the duty of a knight?”

Charles looked up to the prince, then turned to the princess. “If I had one foot in heaven, I will withdraw it and fight for you.”

And then he felt the expected stinging slap across the cheek. The skin of his lower lip had burst. It was the last slap a knight would accept and not return. He held her gaze and could see the tears bloom in her eyes, wanted badly to tell her it did not matter, that the pain was fleeting.

Nathaniel offered the sword to the princess. He held her eyes still as she placed the flat side of the sword on his shoulder and said, “I dub thee sir knight.” She paused. “Rise, Sir Charles, Comte d’Artois.”

Charles rose, stunned by the proclamation. He could tell by the look in Nathaniel’s face that the prince did not expect that the princess would vest him with a title on his knighting. He was Comte d’Artois, and he would possess one of the most strategically located holding in Burgundy, a chokehold for English Calais.

Just then, Charles knew that Nathaniel realized that the princess held far more independence than he would like. Artois was one county that the crown would have wished to control, one reason that Nathaniel had been eager to wed the widow of Burgundy. Here, before all the nobility that Nathaniel had been courting, his own bride had granted a peerage to a lowly knight.

The day grew late as festivities in the keep continued. Charles managed to evade his own father. He knew that Lord Bass sought him out at the request of the queen. With her grant, the princess had given him much to answer for to the queen and the queen’s secretary. He had not even wrapped his head around it. 

Fortunately, the spectacle of the banquet today lent an easy escape. Charles slipped away when serving men came bearing the dishes dressed as wild beasts from the forest. As the court marveled at the elaborate tableau, Charles made his way to the stables.

It was then that he saw the princess, murmuring in conversation with her black palfrey. She jumped at the presence, then eased when she saw him.

His heart warmed at the action. To know that the princess was comforted by his presence filled him with pride.

“Princess,” he greeted her now, playful with the newly gained title.

“Comte,” she acknowledged, seemingly thrilled with the peer title. “Chuck,” she tested on her lips. “That is what Nathaniel calls you. Do you like the name?”

“It is familiar,” he answered. And then he nodded, “I like the way you say it, princess.”

“Call me Blair when it is just you and me. We are fast friends now. I have known you longer than my husband.” She smile widened. “And I have made you an earl. You owe me a favor.”

She sounded playful, exhilarated. It was as if she took pleasure to do with him those she knew would cause consternation. Such as handing an earldom in front of an audience, so that it cannot be reversed. 

“I want to ride out alone. I need to feel the wind around me.”

In the hall, there were too many eyes on her. Retreating to her rooms, her eager ladies would surround her.

“Alright,” he told her. 

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I would not have a queen caged,” he said softly.

“I am not yet queen,” she parried.

“You have been my queen since the day I saw you all in black, mourning a marriage that would make you queen of France.” He wanted to step closer to her, and closer still. But he had sworn a code in his knighthood, and she was married to the king. He took a deep breath. “I can take you outside, your grace. And you can ride free. I swear to you I will protect you. I am honor bound.”

“What if I escape?”

“You will not abandon this kingdom. Despite it all, you understand your reason for being, and your place in this kingdom.” Charles pulled the saddle and strapped it to the palfrey. He offered his hand to help her up. “You will wear the crown well, Blair.”

“Then come, while there is a light,” she decided. Blair followed him to the secret pathway he used to steal out of the castle grounds. Blair gasped as they sneaked out the back way, and her palfrey burst into a run in the open field. She called back to him, “Stay a good distance away. I will fool myself that I am not caged.”

Charles watched her ride free. After a while, she motioned to him and their horses raced together across the field. And then she was smiling, laughing with glee. They rode back, slipped at the back to the stables. 

Blair straightened herself and brushed off the dust from her clothes as she and Charles made their way down the hallway, on their way back to the banquet. She caught his sleeve and stopped him as they passed by the tapestries. “Do you know which story this is?” she asked him. “I would ask my ladies to find me the words to read in the night.”

Charles paused and looked up at the tapestry. He had been living in the chateau so long he had long ignored the masterpieces around him. “Stories from Master Chretien de Troyes’ poetry, tragic stories passing for romance. I do not know that you will enjoy them, princess. This one is Perceval. This is Erec and Enide.” He pointed to a corner. “Yvain. Cliges.” And then he pointed to the center, where a knight sat atop his brave horse and another sat on a wagon. “Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot with the pitiful fate brought upon himself.”

Blair turned to him with a frown. “What did he do?”

“He broke his oath and damned himself.”

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

The awe in Jenny’s face was refreshing as the youngest of Blair’s ladies touched the dresses she had brought with her from Bourbon. Blair’s chest swelled with happiness. Guiding the creation of those dresses had been the fondest experiences she had bonding with her mother. Eleanor took pride in the careful craftsmanship and the avid consultation she had taken with her daughter.

Far away from her mother now, and Blair acknowledged the profound influence those conversations had on her confidence.

“Is everyone in your duchy so well appointed, your grace?” Jenny asked her.

“Most everyone in court,” Blair offered. Jenny pulled the deep blue dress from the chest, and Blair selected the jewels that would suit finely. “Entry to the court is not merely about nobility. In court, people are ornaments. Thus, we need to be beautiful that our physical presence pleases the lord, yet bear with us an active mind that our wit shall entertain and engage.”

Jenny nodded, listening intently. Dorota helped Blair into the dress and clasped the necklace. Blair touched the gemstone resting on the hollow of her throat. “I am grateful to have been chosen to serve you. I am learning from you.” 

Blair gave a brief smile at the younger lady. “Someday you may even preside upon your own court.”

At the words, Jenny flushed. “I would be happy to rise up and be betrothed to one of Prince Nathaniel’s lords.”

Fleetingly, Blair thought of Chuck. He was an earl now, and quite the prize for any of her ladies. It dawned on her that as their mistress she would soon be expected to reward their service with advantageous matches. Forcefully she pushed the image the comte to the side. Jenny was much too young for the newly minted knight. “Did you have your eyes set on someone?”

“None at court is lovelier than the prince, your grace,” was Jenny’s candid response. The young woman appeared as surprised as Blair at the answer. Jenny closed her hands over her mouth. “My apologies, your grace.”

Blair waved away the embarrassment, reached forward and tightened her hand over Jenny’s. “It’s true, ma chere. You will never make an error proclaiming the man sitting on the throne is above all others.” Blair smiled. “No one ever shall dare deny it. You see, you are showing an innate wisdom that shall give you traction in a royal court.”

Jenny sighed in relief. She ushered Blair to the receiving area of her chambers, and then curtsied and excused herself to her own rooms. Immediately she noted that Georgina and Ivy were seated each holding books, while Vanessa peered over Georgina’s shoulder with eyes wide. Serena most often arrived later in the day.

She was glad that by sheer fortune, all the ladies that were sent to her were readers. It would be a wonderful addition to the past times that she planned for her small court. 

Upon seeing her, Ivy rose and presented her with the small book. “This has arrived for you, delivered by a maid.”

Puzzled, Blair reached for the leather bound volume and asked, “Who is it from?”

“She did not say,” Ivy said, her voice growing fearful, a tad tremulous. She motioned to take it back, but Blair waved away. “”I should have insisted on a name.”

Blair turned to a page, and in the fine complicated ink she could read the name. Chretien De Troyes. L’Poesie. “I know who had sent it. I would know the story of the tapestries outside. I hear they are the grand romances of France. If I am to be queen, I should know them.” She held the book close to heart. “Shall you read it to me, Ivy?”

“Bien sur,” was a swift response.

“But not today, your grace,” Georgina offered. She held up the large volume in her hands. “I had gone through much to bring this to you, your grace. It was no easy feat.” Behind Georgina, Vanessa caught Blair’s gaze and shook her head. “Tomorrow in the morn the lords that have joined your celebration shall return to their keeps.”

Blair agreed. “They shall gather their men and their arms, as asked by the prince.”

Georgina rose, tucked the large volume under her arm, then took Blair’s hand and pulled her to sit with them. Her dark eyes were somber and searching, and she explained slowly, “Queen Anne shall wish to show them all, before their leave, that the union between the throne of France and your duchies are strong and irreversible.”

“The prince and I have married. They all witnessed the coronation. They know that the French throne has behind it the might of Bourbon and Burgundy.”

Georgina was silent, and so was Blair. Vanessa moved from behind the seat to kneel on the lush carpet by Blair’s knees. “Your grace, they will need to see to it that the union is consummated. The queen will insist on the bedding rituals tonight.”

Blair gasped. She had expected that the prince would have stayed with her on the night she arrived. She had known the marriage was to be consummated. She had not heard of rituals, or noblemen’s expectations of rituals. 

Georgina flipped open the large book on her lap. “Do not fret, your grace. This is why we are here. I have prepared for this.”

Drawn by her own curiosity, Ivy moved to the long chest upon which the two sat. She looked over and saw what Blair saw. 

The sketch featured a man, eerily illustrated as the head seemed turned at an angle that Blair could not believe was possible, on top of a woman whose legs were splayed in a way she absolutely knew was improbable. The doors to the chamber receiving room swung open, and all of them looked up to see the Lady Serena slide in to the room, flushed as if she had run all the way. Yet she was so elegant that Blair just knew she would not have rushed so.

Serena cocked her head to the side. “What is it?”

“We are preparing her grace for the bedding tonight.”

Serena gasped and walked over, then looked at the page. “Mon Dieu!” She reached over and shut the volume, then thrust it back to Georgina. “Please be rid of it.” To Blair, she turned and assured her, “All you should know is that Prince Nathaniel is a glorious gentleman. He shall hurt you not. Take comfort in that.” Serena smiled at the princess. “Truly. All else will fall into place.”

Serena vanished into the bedchamber briefly, then rejoined the group. She went over to Blair and presented her with the small bottle of her fragrance. 

The rousing noise outside filtered through the princess’ chamber walls, calls and whistles and even the music blaring from the instruments. Blair looked up and knew it for what it was. The prince had come, along with the entire court. She met Serena’s eyes, and the lady gave another reassuring smile. It was Lady Serena that rose to answer the knock on the door.

The rest of Blair’s ladies stood at the sight of the prince and sank into a curtsy.

Blair saw the queen, and the myriad familiar faces that she could not name so hazy had her vision turned. They would blur in her memory. Her husband, the prince, stepped into the chamber and leaned briefly as Serena whispered something into his ear. Nathaniel searched in the chamber and met Blair’s eyes. The corner of his lips turned up. He turned back to the crowd that gathered outside, then took the two goblets that Queen Anne held.

“Ladies,” he greeted to them all.

He crossed the receiving room and handed Blair one of the goblets, then drank from his own. Blair tasted the sweet and spicy, warmed wine. He offered her his arm, and Blair placed a hand on his sleeve. Vanessa and Georgina walked forward so they could lead them to the bedchambers, then drew the curtains so they could slip through.

The receiving area was filled as the court poured in, led by the queen. 

Blair looked up at Nate, her eyes brimming now with trepidation. She had never known a bedding ritual, not in any of the weddings she had seen in Bourbon. Yet here they were, all expecting to see her lose her maidenhead to the dauphin, the regent. She looked out the door, and wondered.

They seemed intent, as if it was their right to witness this.

And she wanted to tell Nathaniel that she had not signed up for this part. But he looked so find. She reached up to push the golden hair away from his forehead, and briefly doubted her gesture as too familiar.

She shook away the feeling. Soon they would be on the bed in perfect view of the court, with him climbing on top of her while she splayed at an odd angle and crushed beneath him.

Blair finished the wine in her goblet. He took it from her and placed both of theirs on the armoire. He cupped her face in his hands, then held her gaze as he lowered his lips to hers. Blair met his kiss with pliant lips, parting in surrender. A loud cheer erupted outside. 

And then Blair gasped in surprise. She did not notice when they entered, but her ladies made short work of the lacing on the back of her dress, then parted it for her to step out until she stood in her shift. Nathaniel took off his doublet and handed it to Vanessa, thanking her quietly.

When her ladies stepped out of the bedchamber, Nathaniel followed and said to the court, “If you will, my lords, I would spend the night with the princess behind these doors. We thank you for joining in our celebration.” Waiting for no response, Nathaniel shut and barred the door.

At this, Blair collapsed gratefully on the side of the bed. Nathaniel walked over to her and grinned. “I have something for you. It’s something special.”

Blair blinked and looked up at him suspiciously. He sure thought very highly of his manhood to surprise her with it on this consummation. At least he had shut the door, and who were they to complain about the next king. Even now, with the wall between them, Blair still felt the discomfort knowing she would be bedded with an audience just in the other room.

He took her hand. Nathaniel touched the wedding ring that Chuck had put on her. Nathaniel then presented her with a beautiful clear cut large diamond. “This is the Vanderbilt heirloom ring, a Valois piece. My dear friend tells me you were quite taken with the romance of the tapestry outside the hall. This ring, I am giving you tonight, symbolizes my own oath to you. I was not there for our own wedding, so I could not swear it then.”

Blair watched as the priceless ring slid on to her finger, perfectly sized, brilliant and stunning. She looked up at the prince’s kind blue eyes. 

“While our marriage may not be some grand romance worthy of a tapestry, while we are not in love, while we are here because of circumstances beyond us, Blair, I swear to you that I would dedicate my sword and faith to you. I will dedicate to you the king I shall become, because you made it happen.”

Blair released the breath that she did not realize she held. She placed a kiss sweetly on his lips. She laid back on the bed. Beside her, Nathaniel climbed in and lay beside her. Blair turned to her side and placed a hand on his chest. She admired the diamond winking from the ring. Nathaniel covered her hand with his.

He closed his eyes. Blair’s grew heavy from the wine. 

She felt him stirring and her eyes fluttered open. Her hand had fallen to the sheets. She saw Nathaniel walking towards the door and realized they had fallen into a short nap. When he noticed her awake, he returned to the bed and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“But the consummation…”

“Right.” Blair watched as Nathaniel moved to the chest at the foot of the bed and opened it, then took a small vial from inside. He twisted off the cap and spilled the red liquid on the pristine sheets. Nathaniel’s voice was comforting. “This is for them. We have the rest of our lives together.” 

When he opened the door, the cheer burst forth once again. Blair saw Nathaniel press the empty vial into Serena’s hand as she passed by him to enter the bedchambers. Serena met her eyes with a small secret smile, then approached the chest to draw a robe and drop the vial. The prince joined the court and began to lead the nobles away. Queen Anne stepped into the room behind Serena.

The queen stood at the side of the bed, looking down gratified. She sat by Blair and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You did well, my dear. Soon, Lord Jesu shall bless us with an heir. I have faith.”

The next night, Nathaniel came to Blair’s rooms once again. Upon his arrival, the ladies hurriedly stood and left the chambers. She noticed Jenny gaze adoringly at the prince before leaving, and Vanessa giggle. Positively romantic, they had commented earlier that day, thinking about the grand romance that had begun in the princess’ life. Perhaps they had started reading the book of poetry, before Blair even had a chance to.

Nathaniel settled in the receiving area and set up a well finished wooden board. He looked up to her, and then asked, “Do you play checkers?”

At this, Blair smiled and reached for a piece. “Do I?” she said lightly, her guard down. Whatever it was that she had entered into here in Paris, it seemed she gained a friend.

“I wanted to let you know that I am personally arranging the shipment of gold to England for my father’s random. Once we have gathered the resources together, I will take care of it.”

“That is good to know. I would love to meet your father, Nate.” She picked up the piece and moved across the board.

“Thank you.” He met her gaze. “We could not have done it without you.”

Without her money. But it was all the same to them.

“With your gold, we are paying for stronger arms, building better weapons against the English,” he shared.

She looked back at him. “Nate, why are you telling me all this? It is not my gold, not anymore.”

“Your gold, your arms, your army. Your kingdom, Blair,” he told her. “You will be queen. Remember it.” Blair nodded, acknowledging the gruff passion in his voice, and knew that he was sincere. “Partners, remember?”

Blair placed the piece down, then leaned back. Partners. She cleared her throat. “Then tell me. You have the gold, and I have more of it. Tell me why we are scared. How strong is the enemy that we are cowering on our own land?”

Her words, her tone, seemed to be unexpected to Nathaniel, because he paused and stared silently at her for a time. And then, after his initial surprise, he told her with some disgust he could not hide, “The English are paying peasants to fight. France takes pride that the glory and burden of fighting for the kingdom belongs to the nobility. They have strength in their numbers, strengthened further by the peasants and prisoners that have trained long and hard for skill. But Blair, we do not cower. We prepare because every loss for us is noble blood, while they send replaceable men.”

After the short match, Nathaniel had made his way back to his rooms. There were days that Blair did not encounter Nathaniel as he worked with his nobles and learned from the intelligence that returned after long journeys in the countryside. Yet all the nights, as if it was his only refuge, Nathaniel came to her rooms like clockwork. His arrival was the signal for the ladies to retire. There nights that he only spoke about all he had learned of the day, and Blair was eager to take the same learning from him.

Her gold, her men, her weapons. Her throne.

Lord Bass, Chuck’s father, had written to her father for more gold to make arms. Blair had followed it up with another missive, writing as a queen in need. Shortly thereafter she had received a word of confirmation, and was assured that the would have the resources needed.

Several days later, Nathaniel received the gold. On the day, Queen Anne had gifted her with a pair of earrings from the Valois collection. They were Vanderbilt rubies, and Blair wore them with a green gown as she ventured out in the gardens. It was Vanessa that accompanied her on her walk. She had not known that Vanessa was so passionate about beauty and nature, and was pleased when her lady shared with her the names of the flowers in the garden and showed her how she sketched the blooms for posterity.

Blair heard his voice first. She had not seen him for some time, so she walked towards the sound. Her brows furrowed when she heard the strange anger that seemed to lick at his words. And then she saw Nathaniel speaking calmly at the knight. She refused to believe that Chuck would ever raise his voice to the dauphin. Yet they had known each other since they were young boys, and loved the other as brothers. 

Chuck must have noticed her, because he stopped immediately. He strode towards her, kissed her hand and apologized in his smooth, soft voice. As suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. Blair watched him walk away, and saw Serena standing at the entrance of the chateau, her hands clasped tensely before her. The comte paused in front of her, and they were too far away for Blair to hear, but she noted Serena look down before Chuck continued on his way.

When she looked back at Vanessa, her lady turned away and drew closer to a flower, providing her some semblance of privacy.

Blair made her way to her husband. “Nate, what is the matter?”

He shook his head. “Chuck and I will resolve the matter between us,” he told her. Nathaniel reached for her hand. “But there is another help I require.”

“Anything.”

His fingers teased at the Vanderbilt diamond sitting on the ring. “I need you to write to the Burgundian nobles to seek their fealty for our fight.”

“Burgundy,” she repeated. The duchy that she held as the widow of the last duke. 

“Yes, Burgundy. No men from Burgundy had fought on my side once. I had expected them to come at my invitation, to no avail. I will be harder to decline you.”

“Nate, I hold the duchy in name. I have never been to Burgundy. No one knows me.”

His hand tightened on hers. “The code will require them to fight, once they are called. Without knowing you, they are sworn to you as their duchess. You will carry that honor and you remain their liege, even if you are married to a prince they contest.”

“Then I shall call them, if that is what you need.”

Nathaniel kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow, my men and I shall escort Lord Bass to the ship on his way to England to ransom the king. I shall retire early, and will not bother you tonight. I am most fortunate to have you for a wife. France is fortunate that you agreed to be queen.”

Blair sighed, and she and Vanessa made their way to the princess’ chambers. When she arrived, Jenny was only too eager to receive her cape. 

Georgina set aside her embroidery. “Serena had sent her apologies. She was unwell, and will retire early.” 

Blair could feel Vanessa’s eyes on her, but instead she turned to Ivy. “My husband will not be visiting tonight. Shall we begin with one of the master’s poems?”

Ivy opened the book to read aloud to the gathered ladies.

tbc


End file.
